What's sickly and pale and red all over?
by Ileana Mackenzie Collins
Summary: Barbara. {some sort of variation of The Killing Joke}


**I don't know. This was a scene that kept going on and on in my head, I had to write it. It was supposed to be angsty. Doesn't look like it. Sorry. I actually had difficulty writing this. I couldn't find the right voice. Oh well. Enjoy.**

**A bit of background: a mixture of the original Killing Joke and the Birds' of Prey version of poor Barbara getting shot - Joker wants to torment Gordon, so he came for Barbara. **

**This fic should probably be in the Batman section, but I'm more familiar with Young Justice and this is set in Earth-16, so yeah I'll put it in YJ instead. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own many things. Such as DC. The Killing Joker served as a sort of inspiration.**

* * *

Barbara was living the perfect life – married to the man of her dreams, even though it took a whole lot of effort to make it work, and had two beautiful daughters in a span of five years.

Being both Mrs. Grayson who had to lend her remarkable computer skills in watching over the interests of Wayne Enterprises and Mommy to 5-year-old Mary and 3-year-old Jamie had taken its toll on her that it seems Batgirl's maternal leave from the rooftops of Gotham would stretch on until her children have graduated high school.

"Let's go to Greece," Dick suddenly suggested one late night after he finally put their youngest to bed.

Barbara set the laptop down and leaned back against the couch, enjoying its comforts. "What?" Half of her mind was worried about the kids and the stocks but deep inside, her heart was doing cartwheels at the idea. "Greece?"

"Or anywhere you want." She could hear the exhaustion in her husband's voice. "Let's take a vacation. Just the two of us."

Her insides were screaming yes. "What about the kids?"

"I'm sure Wally and Artemis wouldn't mind two more for a while." A grin played on his lips.

They both knew no amount of caffeine could counter their fatigue. So Barbara smiled her agreement.

The couple planned to stay two nights at one of Gotham's five star hotels – the start of their rest and relaxation – to finalize some unfinished business, such as leaving most of their responsibilities in Wayne Tech and the company, in general, to Tim. They've already dropped off Mary and Jamie, who were eager to spend some time with the speedster twins, at Palo Alto via zeta tube and the only unchecked box in their to-do list was Nightwing's much awaited illegal arms bust in Bludhaven.

Barbara had left the balcony door of their presidential suite unlocked especially for Dick's arrival around midnight. She shut her laptop for the last time and headed to the bathroom for a nice shower before bed when the doorbell rang.

_Who would come through the door this late?_ Confused and cautious, Barbara grabbed a batarang then walked to the doorway and looked through the peephole. The man on the other side was wearing a hat, a Hawaiian shirt, and khakis with a camera slung over his neck. He's probably just a lost hotel guest with the wrong room number. She tucked the projectile inside the pocket of a jacket hanging by the hallway.

Barbara inwardly laughed at her paranoia and opened the door to entertain a fellow Gothamite. Then she saw the bleached skin, the green hair, the smile forever plastered on his lips, and the pistol poised at his side.

* * *

Barbara was living the perfect life – married to the man of her dreams and had two beautiful children in the span of five years.

And it shattered like glass with a gunshot to the spine.

It was panic at first, to not be able to move the bottom half of her body; to not feel anything.

Then it was quickly replaced by hopelessness.

She could no longer walk from Point A to B, no longer run miles every morning.

She could no longer do simple household chores without assistance. Or even dress herself properly.

She could no longer drive her girls to the nursery. Or even ride a bicycle in the park.

She could no longer perform the tricks she'd spent years perfecting. Or even hold herself up in hand-to-hand combat.

She could no longer live her perfect life the way she wants to.

There was no more Batgirl. Maybe there's also no more Barbara.


End file.
